His rich brown eyes regarded me with keen interest before he turned his attention toward my father once more. He reached inside his coat and pulled out something wrapped in thick parchment from his interior pocket. “Olivia, take these dried roots and seep them in hot water to make a tea.”
Momma took them, nodded, and hurried toward the fireplace.
“Should I go cut those splints?” I asked. “So we can set his legs?”
“No. That may not be necessary.”
I glanced at my father’s twisted legs. The severity of his injuries brought sympathetic pain to me. Aches radiated up my legs as though my legs were the ones broken and every nerve screamed its protest that I was standing. I closed my eyes and winced.
“I can’t see how he managed to survive long enough to get home.”
Jacques gave me a side-glance. “Your father is a strong man, Forrest. Incredibly strong. His willpower got him here despite his injuries.”
“How can he recover from this that he might walk again?”
“The tea first,” he replied.
“If he went to kill the baron, why didn’t he take the dagger with him? Couldn’t he have used its power to destroy the master?”
Jacques smiled grimly and shook his head. “The dagger you possess looks to be made specifically for you. It would have done your father no good. You see, your father paid the gypsy to enchant it. I believe he planned to begin your training once he returned home.”
“Why would he attack the master alone?”
“To be honest, I don’t think he intentionally went to kill the baron. He might not have even expected the baron to be there. There’s an even stronger chance that he didn’t even know the baron is a vampire. Nonetheless, your father’s experience and wisdom are too great for him to make a direct attack on a master vampire alone. A true hunter is never that foolish. John had probably targeted a feral vampire and during his pursuit he unexpectedly crossed paths with the baron.”
My father groaned and writhed in his pain-induced coma.
“What’s a feral vampire?” I whispered.
“One that has recently emerged from the grave. Such newly turned vampires are often disoriented and overly aggressive. They need to be fathered into their new lifestyle. Nurtured. Otherwise, they carelessly draw attention to themselves from their brutal attacks. Vampires have only survived throughout the centuries by maintaining discretion. Quite possibly the vampire your father had sought to kill was the new undead child of the baron.”
Momma returned with a decanter of steaming tea.
“Olivia,” Jacques said softly. “Soak the tea in a cloth and then gently squeeze out the liquid into John’s mouth, only a little at a time so he doesn’t choke. Make certain he drinks as much as possible.”
She nodded.
“Forrest and I will retreat closer to fire for a while. Once the herbal tea gets into John’s system, I will proceed.”
Chapter Four
The small flickering fire popped and crackled softly inside the hearth. Even though Jacques had never requested, I filled a bowl of rabbit stew and handed it to him. He nodded his appreciation.
He sat back in the rocker and cupped the bowl beneath his nose. He took in a deep breath of the stew’s aroma. Steam rose off the bubbling liquid. He tipped the bowl and gulped a scalding mouthful, chewed momentarily, and swallowed without a wince or grumble from its immense heat. Then he took another gulp, seemingly unaffected by its blistering heat.
“Are you a vampire hunter, too?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Not in the sense that you and your father are.”
“But I’m not a hunter.”
Jacques pointed a finger at me and grinned. “Ah, but you are. It’s evident to your father and it is to me as well. Your mother sees it too, but you’d be hard-pressed to ever get her to admit it since you’re her only child. Mother’s are selfish like that.”
I frowned. “You’ve only just met me. How can you predict that I am a hunter?”
“It’s more than obvious.”
“How’s that?”
He studied me for about a minute. “You revealed to the baron your age. Eight years old?”
I nodded and shrugged. “So?”
Jacques laughed softly. He turned up the remaining contents of the bowl and drank them down. He set the bowl beside his chair.
I rose and reached for the bowl. “Would you like more?”
He shook his head and motioned for me to sit back down. “I was watching you in the forest before the baron arrived. Upon first sight of you, I’d have thought you much older, too. Certainly not a young boy. And your speech, your wisdom . . . I dare say, are far greater than any other lad your age. There’s a reason for that.”
“What?”
“Every so often a hunter is born with the power and knowledge of a hunter from the past. Mind you, not the reincarnation of one’s spirit, but more of the intellect, the prowess, and agility. You were blessed with these traits, born with them, so use them wisely.”
“I still don’t understand how you can be so certain.”
“Forrest, no child grows at the rate your body and mind has. Regardless if a child ate abnormally large amounts of food every single day, he still couldn’t achieve what you are without it having been destined to him. He’d simply be an overly plump child, no more the wiser, either. May I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“When the baron stood threatening you, why didn’t you run?”
“I wasn’t afraid of him, odd as that may sound.”
“He was keenly aware of your lack of fear. Even after he drew his sword, I doubt he’d have had the courage to rush toward you.”
“Because of the dagger?” I asked.
Jacques shrugged. “That and he probably thought your father had trained you. He feared you’d end him right there.”
“But you are the one that frightened him away,” I said. “With that blast of light.”
“That wasn’t to protect you. The baron was simply wasting my time. I needed to get to your father and that pompous bastard was theatrically upstaging my arrival.”
“Did he know you were close by?”
Jacques shook his head. “Doubtful. His attention was solely focused upon you.”
“So he will think the light was my doing?”
He grinned. “Yes. He will be confused for quite some time, which works to your advantage while your father recovers.”
“How did you do that? Make the light?”
“For now, that remains a secret.”
“When you mentioned that you were a hunter, but not like my father and I, what did you mean?”
Jacques glanced toward my father’s bed and rose. “In time.”
He hurried across the room. I followed.
He glanced at my mother. “Were you able to get the liquid down?”
“Most of it,” she replied.
“Good. It’s time to begin.”
Bruises mottled my father’s flesh from his ankles to his upper thighs. The angle at which my father’s feet were turned indicted that his lower leg bones were broken. His upper thighs were unnaturally bent. He had been tortured slowly. Battered and beaten with a blunt object. How he had managed to escape his attacker was beyond me.
Jacques took my father’s right foot in his hands. He twisted sharply. Cracking and popping sounds made me cringe. Momma covered her mouth and turned away; tears spilled down her cheeks.
My father didn’t move, nor did he make any sound at all.
Jacques lowered my father’s foot and reached for the other one.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“It’s part of the process,” he replied.
“Hasn’t he been tortured enough? I thought you said that you were his friend.”
Momma turned toward me. “Forrest!”
“It’s okay, Olivia,” Jacques said calmly. “Forrest, if your father is to ever walk again, the bones must be reset. Oth
erwise, they will not heal properly.”
“But you’re hurting him,” I replied.
“No. The tea is a strong sedative, numbing his pain and putting him into a near death sleep. Trust me, he doesn’t feel this. He’s not even aware that we’re in the room.”
He twisted my father’s left foot with another sharp jerk, which brought more sickening sounds. Sweat beaded Jacques’ brow. Tears brimmed at the edges of his eyes. I held no further doubts about how deeply he cared about my father. He was doing what was necessary, and it pained him as much as it did Momma and I to witness it.
After lowering my father’s left foot to the bed, Jacques moved to the side of the bed and readjusted the bones in my father’s upper thighs. “Instead of wooden splints, I suggest wrapping his legs with tight cloth and tying secure knotted strips of cloth around the girth of his legs about every four inches. He’s not going to be moving for some time yet to come.”
My mother nodded.
From his lower coat pocket, Jacques removed a jar of salve and opened it. He took a large needle tucked into my mothers spool of thread and pricked his finger. He squeezed his finger until large drops of blood beaded. He held his finger over the open jar, allowing several drops of blood to coat the top of the greasy ointment. He sealed the jar and vigorously shook the contents before handing it to her. “You need to apply this to all of his cuts and abrasions each morning. He won’t wake for hours, if not days. If it’s no problem, Olivia, I’d like to continue my conversation with your son outdoors. It has been wonderful seeing you again.”
Momma walked to him, hugged him, and kissed his cheek.
Jacques walked to the door and grabbed his silver cane. He put his top hat on and pulled the door open. A strong cold blast of snowy wind flowed past us. “Are you coming?”
I nodded and followed him back out into the blizzard. Darkness had settled in. Night surrounded us. But the brightness of the snow prevented us from being engulfed in the complete shadow of night.
The wet snow made soft scrunching sounds as we walked down the hidden bloody path where my father had crawled. The cold bit at my cheeks, and I missed the warmth of the cottage. Jacques seemed unaffected by the quick transition.
“What is the purpose for adding your blood to the ointment?” I asked.
He grinned.
“Another secret?”
Jacques cocked a brow and replied, “One I will gladly share, provided you can handle the truth.”
From the moment he first appeared in the forest, I sensed some type of mysterious power surrounding him, perhaps even paranormal strength. “I doubt I could ignore my curiosity of not knowing. It would distract me from the things I need to learn.”
He laughed. “I mentioned that I am also a hunter.”
I nodded. “But not like my father or what you believe I shall someday be.”
“I added my blood to the ointment because of its healing capabilities. I have the mark of the wolf.”
I frowned. “You’re a werewolf?”
Jacques nodded. He studied my eyes, awaiting my reaction. I’ll admit that the revelation wasn’t too surprising, given the excessive thick coarse hair on the backs of his hands and the sides of his face. The extreme swiftness he had displayed in the forest intrigued my curiosity as well, but I had never heard of tales about werewolves that were able to cloak themselves with invisibility.
Living in Romania where supernatural beasts and creatures thrived, not only in legends but also in the dead of night, I was mentally prepped to expect the unexpected. I never had any intention of roaming the countryside looking for any of them, but I understood the likelihood existed that one day I would stumble upon a supernatural creature. But two in one day—a vampire and a werewolf—not even the best Tarot reader or diviner could have predicted that.
“But your blood,” I said. “Will it—“
“Infect your father?”
I nodded.
“No.”
“The stories I hear tell otherwise. How can your blood not taint his?”
“Forrest, you live in the remnants of a war-torn country where superstitions are more powerful than most religions. The transforming agent is in the saliva, not the blood. However, the properties of my blood hold a healing capability that I cannot explain. I assure you the ointment will quicken the rate at which your father heals. Not instantaneous, as we’d all like, but at weeks instead of agonizing months.”
“So you were bitten by a werewolf?”
“No, by a wolf,” Jacques replied. “Long ago, when your father and I were exploring the rugged terrain in the valley near Dracula’s Castle we became separated when a pack of mammoth black wolves rushed toward us.”
Chills, not brought on by the freezing winter air, rushed down my back. The hair on the back of my neck stiffened. “Mammoth wolves?”
“Massive beasts. Twice the size of regular wolves. Legend has been told that these once belonged to Dracula.”
“Do you believe that?” I asked, intrigued.
Jacques eyes narrowed, and he nodded. “I have no doubts about it. For after I was bitten, I hid inside a cave where I suffered from fever and delusions. I emerged a day or so later and searched the path where your father and I had been separated, hoping to track his footprints. Everything about me had heightened. My sense of smell, hearing, sight, and touch were incredibly brighter, keener. My hunger became more aggressive as I held greater cravings for taste, especially meat.”
“So your senses allowed you to find my father?”
He shook his head. “Close. I was on the right path. I smelled his scent, odd as that might sound, but remember a werewolf’s sense of smell is magnified. As I cut through a trodden path that ran along the river’s edge, I was unable to keep tracking him.”
“Why?”
“I became enslaved.”
“By whom?”
“A vampire. A grandson of Dracula.”
“How is that possible? Dracula is dead? Isn’t he?”
“No,” Jacques said sternly. “He’s very much alive. Just not in Romania.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but he interrupted me.
“I know, legends tell of his demise, but a word of caution. Legends are filled both with truth and deceit. But one thing is true. The mammoth wolves were subservient to Dracula’s offspring and their commands. By proxy, so was I. The pack of great wolves encircled me and prevented me from running. Then the vampire compelled me, drew me to him, and bound me to do his bidding for almost a year. I became one of the mammoth wolf pack.”
“For a year?”
He nodded. “During the time of the full moon, he chained us inside iron barred dungeon cages to prevent us from escaping. He knew during our transformations when we became half-man and half-wolf that he held no power over us. That was the time when we held greater power than he. He feared I’d kill him, which I plotted daily. I wanted freed of his control. I wanted to rip out his heart.
“After nearly a year, I had assumed your father was dead. Perhaps the wolves that had pursued him had chosen to kill him instead of forcing him to live under the same bondage as the rest of us. In a sense he had been spared. But I discovered he was alive.”
“He came back? Why?”
“Curiosity, I suppose,” Jacques replied. “He later told me that he had thought the wolves had killed me. He returned to look for clues, but he came prepared.”
Layers of snowflakes clung to us, covering our heads and shoulders. The cold no longer bothered me. I was too enthralled by his tale to consider heading back inside.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Your father told others in town about the giant wolves that roamed the base of the mountain where the castle overlooked and how he feared I was dead. He attempted to hire several hunters to return with him, as he said that he couldn’t live with himself without having absolute proof that I was either dead or alive. At times he sensed I was alive, and at others, he felt no connection to me at all. Th
e constant uncertainty haunted him.
“But none of the hunters were brave enough, regardless of the high bounty he had offered. Another man spoke with him in private and showed John his scars. He had been one of the pack members that had broken loose before the cage door was locked. He warned John that the wolves were actually werewolves, and there was the chance that I was one of them. If he didn’t want to accidentally kill me, the man told him to abandon the thought of killing the wolves. That day was what changed your father’s and my life forever.”
“Why?” I asked.
“On that day, he discovered what I had become, and that was also when he decided to kill his first vampire.”
“What happened?”
Jacques smiled. “That’s all of the tale I will give you. Have your father tell you the rest. It will give him something to do while he is bedridden. The ending of that story is partially evident, as we are both alive and breathing. Your story is unfolding before you. You’re a vampire hunter.”
“But what if I don’t want to become one?”
“Your destiny chooses you, and not the other way around. Besides, even though you are young, I perceive that you’re not going to be content allowing the baron to live after what he did to your father.”
I thought about that. He was right. The baron had chosen to inflict as much pain upon my father as possible instead of simply killing him. Feasting off my father’s suffering had been a game for him. How many others had suffered similar or worse fates due to this monster? His sadistic nature needed to end.
I nodded. “The baron’s reign of terror will end. I will see to it. That’s a vow I intend to keep. The dagger my father gave me will ensure my success.”
“A word of caution about the dagger.”
“Okay?”
“While the dagger can enslave the master to your bidding, never enter his lair thinking you’ll be the conqueror. It will be your death and doom.”
Forrest Wollinsky: Vampire Hunter [Book One] Page 3